by Colleen Kam Siu
Hapa is a Hawaiian word
that means part,
but more recently, half.
In 1870, Hapa
meant part-Hawaiian
and part-Chinese laborer;
the latter imported
for their bitter strength, eager
to escape broken promises
in Kwangtung,
not yet knowing
that’s the material
that makes a man
who calls himself Master.
Filed under Poetry
by Stephen Hundley
Crocodiles are easy. People are harder.
–Steve Irwin
In 2006, Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray. The Telegraph reports that he was stabbed hundreds of times by an animal roughly six-hundred-pounds and seven feet across, wing to wing. His cameraman said he passed peacefully, in shock. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Kalehua Kim
Today someone sings about a broken heart.
Tomorrow I could sing about a broken heart.
The song on the radio can’t tear me like tissue
the way your grunts and groans shred my heart. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Dana Gynther
That week at the beach, my family began to unravel. Well, not the kids, they were oblivious as children often are, and made of stronger stuff. The teenagers were preoccupied with sneaking out to smoke cigarettes and meet boys while the under-twelves were a typical gang of summertime cousins wrapped up in their own world. None of them noticed the adults. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Shei Sanchez
Darkness on route 144. The hour before dawn still
folded in the failing moonlight. November air
hangs dewed, wanting. My only source of light
caged in the eyes of my car, searching
for the right of way. Brightened for whitetails,
possums, refuge. Groping for tread and mettle. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 